Minor Details
by Miss Pretty Socks
Summary: Connor and Murphy have been looking for someone. After strolling into McGinty's one evening they find just who they're looking for; a woman of dubious self and spacial awareness by the name of Fi. Connor/OC/Murphy  I haven't fully decided yet
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One:**

If you want to be a nobody, live in a city. If you want to be invisible, do what everyone else is doing. And if you want to be wallpaper, you better know when to stop drinking.

I'm a nobody; I live in Boston. I'm invisible; I talk shit, root for the Sox, and drive like an asshole. I never could get that 'wallpaper' thing down though. I mean, I'm at McGinty's right now throwin' them back like my liver can keep up or something.

"Heyy, another shot, ya?" I call out to the old man behind the bar.

"A wee bit early for ye to be drinkin' this much, i'nt lass?" He asks me, but fills my shot anyways. A double. What a good man.

"Nah, haa, this is the perfect time to be drinkin'." I smile at the kind old man and I think he smiled back.

"Fuck! Ass!" Or maybe not…

I can't say I've been the greatest person these past few years. I've stolen a few things, hung around some of the wrong people, and maybe consumed more illegal substances than I should have, but I'm done with most of that. Suddenly gaining consciousness, what other people often call 'waking up', in a filthy side alley between two dilapidated buildings in the North End of Boston more or less "enlightened" me to live a "better life". I can't live that way anymore, which is why I still don't understand why I'm in another grimy pub taking more shots than I can handle.

Too much alcohol is rather unbecoming of a young woman such as myself. I caught a glimpse in a mirror a couple minutes ago, I think, in a bathroom. Did I go to the bathroom? And it was not a pretty sight. I'm really sure I was wearing two earrings too…

CRASH! I look up at this abrasive sound. What the hell was that! I loll my head to the side to survey the destruction; sounded like a fucking bomb or some shit.

Two men in matching dark coats, jeans, and sunglasses barge through the door. I was close…

"'ey, Doc! How 'bout some beers!" One of the men bellows out.

"Murphy! Connor! Where ye b-been, boys?" Seriously, now the bartender is in on this screaming match!

"Eh, you know, workin' all de time." Answered one of the men.

"An' tryn'a find someone." Answered the other.

They both sat down at the bar, the one with lighter hair directly across from me, the other just to his right. I put my cheek against the coolness of the bar. Damn that felt good. It was sweltering in here, or was that just me?

I look the two men over behind the shield of my hair. It'd be embarrassing if they saw me openly looking at them, this way they won't know I'm watching.

"Doc, what's wit de girl?" Asked the light haired one.

"Aye, Connor, dat be Fi, been in 'ere de last t'ree o' four days."

"Fi?" Asked the other, Murphy, I reason. My deductive skills are so damn good.

"Ye, came in Tuesday I t-t'ink. Let 'er stay in de room upstairs last night. Seems in a bit o'va rough spot."

"She give a last name t' ya?" Asked Connor. He pointed over to me though his eyes stayed on Doc. I get the feeling they're talking about me over there.

"No, n-n-no last name."

"Looks like our lass, Conn." Said Murphy and tapped his companion's shoulder in celebration.

"Well, Murph, le's find out." Through my mess of hair I saw him approach my side of the bar. I should probably lift my head off this counter; he'll be here any second. Bad impressions don't make good friends.

"Hey beautiful, what ye drinkin' tonight?" I felt a cold, rough hand on my back. Connor sat next to me, looks at me all sober-like. I lift my head off the bar, hair a mess; everywhere.

I look up at him, squint. What a good looking man. I want to touch his face.

"H-hey, why are you wearing sunglasses?" My hand is on his cheek.

"S'only four, love." He smiles at me. No, I think he's laughing at me.

"No!" I'm an indignant retard when sober. I wave for another shot but Doc is over there talking to that other guy, Murphy.

"Yes, s'true!' He tells me.

"Why're you wearin' a coat, it's fuckin' hot in here." He's holding my hand, touching my ring. What a nice man.

"'Cause it's November, an' jus' started ta snow."

"No! Really? Already? Where have I been!" I give him a peculiar look, I'm sure.

"Looks like ye been 'ere fer a while, lass. What's yer name, darlin'?" He looks down at my ring again. I guess he likes it.

"The name's Fi." I extended my hand for him to shake.

"Pleasure ta meet ye, Fi Luccio. I'm Connor MacManus." He takes my hand and shakes it, his hand nearly twice the size of my own. "Me twin brother Murphy is over talkin' with Doc." He adds, and nods over to his brother at the other end of the bar. He's laughing about something, likely another patchwork proverb of Doc's by the way the old man's face is twinged with a look of frustration.

"Ye know, Fi, it's a bit strange but…I've been lookin' fer ye. Murphy 'nd I have, fer a while now." He's looking at me, straight in the eyes, and the honesty in them scares me more than my prospective hangover.

"Y-you've been lookin' for me? No! Who needs to be lookin' for me. I ain't done nothing, or anything, or, what-whatever. I've done nothin' worth anyth-thing." I need a fucking drink. Anything to make these walls stop spinning.

"Honest! An' ye've done plen'y. We know a lot 'bout ye, Fi, more'n ye might t'ink."

"Are you a good man, Co-Connor MacManus?"

"I'd certainly like ta t'ink so."

"Then can you, can you bring me home? Do you know where my earring is?" I'm smiling at him. Or at least that's what I willed my brain to make my face do. I can't actually feel much right now.

"Hahaaa, punch me!"

"What?" He can't withhold an incredulous look.

"Do it! I won't—won't even feel it!" He shakes his head and laughs.

"Murph! We're goin' home a bit early tonight. Looks like we've got a guest." With that said I started flying. I think I was flying. My feet weren't on the ground and I was moving.

"Damn, lass, yer goin' to be feelin' dis tomorrah mornin'!" I look up and see his face, still laughing at me, I can see it in the corner of his eyes. He's carrying me, bringing me home. He doesn't know where I live. I almost want to cry.

"Don' cry, lass. We be gettin' ye ta bed soon." Murphy is peering down at me as we venture out into the brisk November evening. I reach for Murphy's hand; an awkward angle as I'm being cradled like a baby. I'm not even drunk yet, what do these guys even know? You can't have hangovers in the morning if you're not even drunk!

"What is it, Fi?" Murphy asks me. I look at him with what I think are endearing, tear-free eyes.

"D-do you, do you have my earring?"

_A/N: Umm, ya, well, clearly not much has happened in this here first chapter…but I have ideas. :] It's all just a matter of writing them down and actually posting them. Haaa, we'll see if that ever happens. So yes, this is a WIP if I can ever bring myself to write more. I'll try though! It's a personal goal of mine to write more than a one-shot. _

_I've mentioned in my profile I'm not much of a writer…at all. So reviews are welcome with anything you'd like to bring to my attention. And I probably failed at writing the Irish accent—I tried though. Do I get an A for effort? :]_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

I woke to the sound of someone taking a piss. A very distinct noise, actually.

Normally I would find this slightly revolting, but right about now I don't think I'm going to give a shit about anything for at least two days. My hands grasp the sheets. I'm slowing coming to awareness, dizzy, and far too tired to open my eyes. The taste of sleep reminds me of fall afternoons. Something is incorrect here.

Have you ever woken up to the smell of a stranger's sheets? Or the feeling of a shirt you've never worn before; one you don't even remember putting on? It can have quite the startling affect.

I'm face down on a bed surrounded by foreign fabrics and the feeling of barren, empty space around me. I peel myself off the bed with inhuman strength, reach out my hand, and touch a cold wall. I've long since gotten over the fear of opening my eyes at moments such as this, and by moments I mean waking up in places I don't remember going to. Instead I simply keep them shut as long as possible to spare myself the horror and embarrassment.

"Ye t'ink she'll be fine by 'erself if we…

"She won' do not'in fer…"

"…later ta see..."

"won' be…"

People are speaking. I try to open my eyes to see them but all I catch a glimpse of are a white shirt being pulled over skin and a dark tattoo. My vision darkens and shrinks from the corners in, like the ending to one of those old movies, and with it goes my hearing. My equilibrium has abandoned me and I flop back onto this strange bed.

"Ughhhh.." That is the sound of dignity leaving the body.

Two bodies loom over me, their attention drawn to the heap on the bed after having emanated that insidious noise.

"Ye t'ink she's dead, Con?"

"I don' know, le's check 'fore we go."

I'm being poked in the cheek of all places, and now slapped 'lightly' in the face. I don't take the bait.

"'ey! Mornin's 'ere, get up!" Rough hands grasp my shoulders and shake me violently. My face pummels into the mattress and yet I don't have the will to budge.

"Looks like we los' dis one Murph, I s'pose ye be needin' ta find a new playmate."

That's when it happened…

Thumb and forefinger grip the flesh of my hip and I contort in that dysfunctional looking way that only girls who've been pinched in the side can do. My torso arches to one side as my hips jut to the other and it is not the minimal pain that fires me up, but rather the principle of it all. No one, _no one_, touches my _fucking_ hip, side, whatever, fat and gets away with it! I groan in fuming agitation, muffled by sheets and exhaustion.

My legs kick to the side where I believe my abuser to be standing, yet he evades them all the while laughing insanely at my discomfort and intent to bludgeon.

"Look a' dat! She be alive after all!" Mocks my tormentor.

"I wonder if we should tell 'er she ain't wearin' any pants." Says the other.

"I'm sure she knows by now, Con. Le's go, we'll be late." The two men move away from the bed and head for what I imagine to be the door out of this place.

"We be back later, Fi, ye jus' sleep on s'much as ye can." The words were appreciated but I could've done without the slap on the ass as they walked by. Guess that's what I get for not having pants on.

The two men reached for something that clinked, slipped on their coats, and opened the door. A cold breeze wafted in, something my bare legs did not appreciate.

"Fuck…" I mumbled into a stranger's sheets, pulled down a stranger's shirt over my pantless legs, and listened to the sounds of two new voices laughing and talking as they shut the door and made their way down the hall.

Who the fuck were they?

_A/N: Just a short little chapter. I realized I wasn't sure if I wanted to make this a more serious plot or a...not so serious plot. So in the meantime, while I figure that bit out, you can read these 705 words I've got here. :p Also...what do you all think? Would you rather read something with a more serious plot, or just a very light, sort of lackadaisical plot? I've got a more 'serious' idea, but I'm not sure if I want to commit to writing all that out hahaa, I'm still on the fence though, so any thoughts are appreciated. Again-please give an comments, thoughts, ideas! All things are welcome, especially constructive criticism and any cliches you'd like me to avoid (I'll do my best!)_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

I was shaken from my sleep and g reeted with a Styrofoam cup of the best stuff on earth. Black, bitter, and one of t he few things that have kept me going these last few years. A plain white medicine bottle land softly on my lap, the pills inside rattle and shake.

Coffee and aspirin; the breakfast of champs. These guys know how to treat a woman.

The coffee burns down my throat and instantly sends a soothing sensation throughout my body. My muscles relax and my eyes no long fight to keep open.

"Mornin', Fi." Says the man standing a few feet from where I'm now sitting up in bed. He's drinking a coffee of his own with a lit smoke in the other hand. He's looking out the window at the remarkable view; sun washed bricks and a crumbling chimney perched on the building across the alley.

"Good…morning." I rub the side of my face, trying to rid myself of exhaustion I know is plainly evident there.

I look at the man as he continues to stare out the window. He seems to be in deep thought, agitated even, and I almost feel bad about breaking his peace. He has short dark hair, a uniquely handsome face, and a distinctive look of tiredness around his eyes; as if he hasn't gotten a good night's rest in years.

"Who are you?" The question sounds dumb as soon as it leaves my mouth. The man shifts his eyes to look at me and the twinge of a smile creeps up onto his face-lifts one corner of his mouth.

"Murphy. We met las' night, don' s'pose ya'd remember that though." He takes a drag of his cigarette.

"What happened last night?" The last thing I remember was quitting another of my transient jobs.

"Heh, well ya took quite ah few shots. We took ya home, ya could barely get up from yer chair." He looks smug. Bastard.

"Somethin' funny?" I send a stolid glance his way.

"Nah, nothing'! Jus' surprised; figured ya'd hold ya drinks bettah than ya do." He holds out his hands in defense then takes another sip of his coffee.

I've got questions. Questions like, oh, I don't know; Where the hell am I? That's a good one. Or how about who is this 'we' Murphy spoke of? And I'm also a bit concerned as to why he would make presumptions about the rate at which my liver metabolizes the alcohol I down. There's a question in that one somewhere.

But before I can voice these questions I get an answer.

"'ve got some clothes fer t'e lass." Another man walks into the room, cigarette dangling out the side of his mouth and a small pile of clothes in his arms. He has lighter hair, a vaguely familiar face, and when he looks up I see kindness and cunning in his eyes.

"And you are?" I direct towards this new man as I turn and take the blanket off of me. I stand up and run a hand through the disheveled birds' nest that is my hair.

"Connor. Now put some clothes on will ya?" He tosses me the pile of clothes and I look down at my bare legs. I'm in a shirt and underwear, in a strange house, with two men I've just met but apparently met last night. My mind reels at the possible explanations and events that may or may not have taken place last night.

I put on the clothes—loose but comfortable—and before I can tackle my hair I'm being ushered out the door.

"Where we goin'?" I look up at Murphy behind me as we walk out the door. He doesn't answer, just takes another drag and hands me a subway ticket.

A/N: I suck. Hahaha. But seriously, I'm trying to get this story going to where it needs to be.

Just moved in and had my first week of classes at college :o


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I think many of you are starting to think, "What the hell is up with this psycho bitch?" She basically gets kidnapped and finds herself in a disgusting apartment with two strange men and she's not freaking out, not trying to escape, and even concedes to the fact that they're both rather…attractive. You might be thinking—a pitiful human with far too many weaknesses, a pathetic woman with no independence, or, perhaps, Stockholm Syndrome. But I'd disagree with you, except maybe the last one, which may actually be true if this situation counts as kidnapping.

These thoughts start to creep into my mind and for the first time in a long time and I start to think how ashamed my mother would've been. And Jack. Especially Jack.

I slow my steps and walk behind Connor and Murphy to make myself feel better about this. How can I be here with the two of them? I'm depressed. I'm fuckin cold. I'm getting waves of cigarette smoke blown directly into my face.

I hear a dull thwack and look up; Connor hits Murphy in the chest with the back of his hand as they walk side by side. He gestures emphatically and points back at me with his thumb. Murphy tries to defend himself with hand gestures as well. They're not speaking but are clearly having a detailed discussion up there. Suddenly Murphy stops walking, turns slightly and holds open his pack of cigarettes. He's offering me one but doesn't say a word, won't look at me.

"No thanks." I say, and my voice shivers with the cold. It's a bit too quiet for my liking and Murphy seems unsure of what to do with himself.

"Ya fuckin' idiot!" Connor breaks the chilling stillness. He walks back to where Murphy and I are standing, takes off his coat, and hands it to me with a smile.

"Thank you." I say, slip on the coat and begin to walk again. I see we're nearly at Andrew station; we're getting on the Red Line I suppose…

"Ya t'ink a fuckin' cigarette's gonna do any good?" Connor gives Murphy a swift smack to the back of his head.

"Fuckin' ass!" Murphy grumbles back and tries to grab hold of his brother to fight back but Connor snakes away and quickly matches his steps to mine.

"Stupid, stupid…" He mumbles as he sidles up next to me. "Apologies, Murph's got no manners."

"It's fine." I sound emotionless. I almost feel bad for the rude aura I'm giving off but I just can't help but feel like this is wrong, I shouldn't be here, going wherever we're going. I feel like I'm betraying him, and it's too soon. It feels like it'll always be too soon.

"Somethin' wrong, Fi?" Connor asks, and I hate the way it sounds when he says my name. He shouldn't be saying it, not when it sounds so familiar. I'm getting angry with myself; frustrated and confused all at once but my feet are still carrying me in the direction of Andrew Station. I don't understand it.

"Yes!" It comes out so harsh, and then there's no stopping it. "Yes, there is something wrong! What am I doing here? Why am I with you two; where the _fuck_ are we even going? I can't-I can't do this shit anymore!" I'm heated. My eyes hurt, right at the back; a dull and throbbing pain I blame on the hangover rather than tears. But I know they'll come soon, if I say another word they'll pour out and I'll be another sleaze on the streets bawling about lost hope and my future going to shit.

He places a hand on my back and hands me a card. I look at it just for a second and I'm done. My tears come out painfully, one after another, each sending another blow of pain to my already aching head. It hurts so much when you haven't cried in so long; I feel weak and amped all at once. I clutch the card in my hand with everything left inside me.

In Loving Memory of Jack S. Donovan

B: March 15, 1973 D: September 4, 1997

**_Quod incepimus conficiemus._**

_St. Leonard's Church_

_Hanover Street Boston, Massachusetts_

It was a simple memorial. Just like he would've wanted. All the facts laid out plainly, no pretense, just simply himself on card, and a message to me. I knew it was for me. For all eyes but only for my comprehension.

"What we have begun," Connor spoke quietly, careful not to upset me further.

"We shall finish." Murphy had caught up and took up on the other side of me.

Or perhaps it was for someone else's too.

A/N: Uhhh, yup. I hope this semi-makes up for Chapter 3. Still not good, I knows D: But I wrote it today just to get another update out since I felt bad about the last one...at least this gives an idea about what to (hopefully) look forward to. A plot! Which has nothing to do with my earlier plot, but suddenly just appeared, and will continue to appear as I go. Yup, that's right, threw away my idea of planning ahead and now I'm just going to wing it! :D

Fi is, clearly, not acting her usual self. :o She's been having some emotional issues/turmoil lately so she isn't in the greatest of spirits-though she does love her spirits ;p


End file.
